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“Unknown number,” he frowned but put the phone to his ear.
“Hello,” said Martinson tentatively. “Police?” My throat constricted and I listened as Martinson explained to the caller who he was and then there was a pause. “Can you wait a minute, she is standing right next to me.” He removed the phone from his face. “Miss Marshall, do you know a Trudy Belling?”
“Yes, why? She’s a good friend of mine.”
Martinson put the phone back to his ear. “Yes. What can I do for you detective.... I can pass a message to Miss Marshall.”
The tension was palatable as I waited for Martinson to tell me what the hell was going on.
“I see,” Martinson put his hand on hip and looked at the floor. “When was this? Where was she? How bad... Pretty bad then... I am sure she will want to talk to you... Is there a number I can ring you back on?” Martinson gesticulated at Gibson who grabbed a pen and pad of the reception desk. Martinson jotted a number down. “Got that... Will be back in contact shortly,” he hung up.
“What, for God’s sake, Martinson. What’s going on?” Panic was attacking me again, from different quarters - my friend was in trouble.
Martinson sighed and took my arm.
“I’m sorry, Miss, your friend Trudy has been seriously assaulted, she’s in hospital. It doesn’t look good. She was snatched on the way out of the Jinx club early Sunday morning. The only thing she has said is your name.”
I swayed and Martinson grabbed me.
Oh no! The co-incidence was too much. Trudy’s assault had to be linked to him. I just knew it.
“Trudy would have my mobile number. It is too much of a fluke.” I blinked through tears. I put my hand to my mouth to stop a cry.
“Yes,” was all Martinson said.
He sat me back down. Taking out his phone, he walked to the other side of the foyer and rang a number. Jason’s.
“Sir.... There has been a further development. From the police... Miss Marshall’s friend Trudy was seized on Sunday morning and badly beaten, amongst other things.... It would appear she gave him the number under duress.... Yes sir.... In hospital.... Critical... She’s with me,” he turned to look at my tear streaked face.
“I want to go to the hospital,” I found myself saying to Gibson.
“That’s not a good idea, Miss,” she shook her head.
“I don’t fucking care. Take me,” I demanded. Standing up I walked across to Martinson.
“Miss Marshall wants to go to the hospital, sir.” Martinson repeated down the phone to Jason.
He shook his head back at me.
“No. This is my friend and she needs me and I’m fucking going!” I screamed at Martinson, knowing full well that Jason would hear me.
Martinson winced as he was caught between the two of us. He stopped to listen to Jason’s instructions, holding his hand up to me and making me wait.
“Very good, sir, probably for the best,” Martinson hung up. “We’re going to swing by the office and pick up Mr Lucas. He will accompany you to the hospital.”
I physically sagged in relief and sandwiched between Gibson and Martinson, I was quickly escorted to the car outside. We sped off to collect Jason.
Pulling up outside Jason’s headquarters, Martinson opened the passenger door as Jason strode across the pavement, a determined look on his face. He sat next to me, surveying my tear blotched face and trembling hands. His face noticeably softened when he saw my distress. He pulled me on to his lap and held me as I sobbed into his chest. Martinson drove the car towards the hospital.
“The phone, show me,” snapped Jason at Gibson.
She reached back from the front passenger seat and passed Jason my mobile.
He looked at the message. “Little one. Your pet name?”
I nodded back at him.
“This is a death threat. He really is nuts,” he spoke with disgust. “Trudy - did you go out with her on the Wednesday night?”
